


Sing Murder

by VeteranKlaus



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Detective Erwin, M/M, Murder, murderer levi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2019-10-29 05:55:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17802290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeteranKlaus/pseuds/VeteranKlaus
Summary: Detective Erwin Smith was there when the first serial killer in decades terrorized the city of Sina, and he watched as his superiors cuffed and dragged young psychopath Levi Ackerman away behind bars.Years later, and it's happening again. In the exact same fashion as Ackerman once had killed his victim, the new copycat has everything down to a T.Months pass and it brings little progress with more deaths, and Erwin makes the decision to travel to the high security prison hours away, and make a truce with Levi Ackerman.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, obvious themes of violence, murder, etc. If you don't like that, I don't suggest reading.  
> If you enjoy a dark fic, then here you go. Enjoy!

Erwin remembered the day very, very clearly.

He remembered the day the first murder was reported, found, investigated. He remembered the day of the second murder, the third murder, the fourth, fifth, sixth. He could recall the utter chaos in the police department as, each and every time, no evidence was left at any crime scene. He remembered the desperation, the anger, utter hatred of the heartless murderer behind these merciless sins.

He was only new, then. Running around, helping on drugs busts and saving cats from trees and doing coffee runs. It was his first insight into what the job really was, what it could be, what humans were like. It sickened him. He dropped off the officers’ coffee, their eighth cup in a too-short span of time, and saw the case wear them down to the bone. He prayed that they had no mercy for the man when they caught him.

It was a surprising catch, really. The police hadn’t expected to catch him, and he hadn’t expected to be caught. He’d heard from the police there that they’d actually just stared at one another in shock for a few moments.

He got lazy, you see. Or not. Something happened. He got too comfortable, had a breakdown, killed the wrong person. Some say the bastard was too into it, too high and ecstatic in his act to watch the time. Another idea was that they’d gotten tipped off; a little message. Or maybe they just drove faster than usual that one night.

However, it didn’t matter how he got caught, but the fact that he _did_ get caught. After staring at one another in shock, the man had attempted to make his escape. Almost succeeded too, if not for reinforcement coming in the form of a dark, silent SWAT car, speeding around the corner and slamming into the murderers’ small body. Fucker had still put up a fight with a cracked skull and broken ribs, had lashed out and caught an officers’ wrist between his teeth and clung on.

The surprise when, a couple of months later, the man was out of hospital and could walk again and he was escorted in cuffs and chains and a muzzle, black and blue and eighteen years old.

Erwin didn’t care about that. Sure, it was a shock. Kid was just that; a kid, basically. Not long out of high school; hell, he was sixteen when he committed the first murder. The only thing Erwin wished for him was that the officers on scene had hurt him more.

Word in the office during those days was controversial. Some called for an exception in the death penalty; some said death was too good for him.

Levi Ackerman was a monster and if death couldn’t accept him, then he’d live out a life never seeing the sun, never feeling the wind, never hearing another humans voice or seeing another humans face.

Erwin recalled those days very clearly.

After he was caught was a hard time. Fourteen people had been butchered, had their families and friends and communities torn apart. They faced backlash for not catching him too quickly. Hell, when the pictures of the eighteen year old covered in fist-sized bruises got released to the public, they faced backlash for police brutality, of being so rough with a _harmless_ _kid_. They faced the office controversy of his sentence, possible death sentence, was a public thing. Everyone was grieving, sickened to their core. They had to go through with mental evaluations, also controversial in the office.

Though the man was always, always, composed, clearly intelligent, skilled, he was dead behind the eyes. He was emotionless, hardly seemed aware of the horrors he had committed or the fact it was bad.

Erwin only saw him once, when he was being lead inside like a mutt. He had looked forwards, walked with silent steps, and Erwin had never been more disturbed.

Eventually, however, it did settle down. Years later and he was forgotten about other than the surveillance and guards on him. He was the stories children got told of why they shouldn’t stay out late at night, of what bad people there were in the world. People begged for interviews, for reports, for everything, and they got none of it. The only time Levi Ackerman saw a human face was when he was half-conscious after an unexplainable grand mal seizure. Once more after a sudden breakdown. Otherwise, he was left alone to rot in his cell. It was what he deserved.

Ten years later, verging on eleven now, and the city of Sina hadn’t seen anything like it. There hadn’t been another murder since, other than the accidental drunk driving case. It was good. Erwin got promoted several times due to his help on some big cases, and now, he was the officer he used to only speak to when he was delivering coffee to them.

 

“Erwin!”

His usual morning greeting screamed from the right side of the room, strong voice bellowing out of no one but Hanji Zoe. It had somehow become custom for the woman to greet him like this every morning, oftentimes accompanied by shoving a warm cup of coffee into his hands once he was in reach of her grasp.

“Morning to you too, Hanji,” he uttered. His briefcase thumped onto his desk but before he could open it, a hand littered in papercuts and chemical burns slammed down onto it.

“Oi oi oi,” she said, slotting herself between the desk and himself, “how was your weekend? I’ve not seen you since and I even refrained from messaging you because you said you were busy!”

How generous, he thought, but he knew that alone must have been hard for her to physically do.

“It was alright, I suppose.” He offered her a shrug. “I need to find Mike and give him the reports from that meth lab bust.”

“Ah yeah, that’s a good one! I had a field day with all the treasure you hauled into the lab.” She kicked his shin with the toe of her boot. “Keep busting meth labs, Smith. I get to meddle with all of the leftovers.”

With some not-so-subtle prodding from Erwin, the forensic scientist eventually slid away from his desk so he could begin to unpack his reports and files.

“Do you not have some chemicals to burn yourself with?” He asked, flicking a glance at the lingering brunette.

“Eh, like you’ve finished the reports for the meth lab, I’ve finished my own. I’m waiting for the last few samples to process, but we’ve got all we need. Am I not allowed to talk to my favourite detective?” She asked, nudging him in the side.

Erwin responded with a snort. “Usually, when this happens you tend to want something from me.”

Hanji gave him a sheepish, innocent smile. “Nonsense! All I want right now is your attention!”

“If you want that then you can do me a favour and get me a coffee,” he stated. With a heavy sigh, Erwin slumped into his desk chair and put his briefcase aside.

“Ugh; if that’s the price for your love, bitch, fine.”

She dragged out her exit as long as physically possible, but eventually she left, allowing Erwin to catch ten minutes of peace to sort himself out before she returned, precariously balancing two mugs of steaming, dark coffee in her grasp.

She placed one on the place mat on his desk and he watched as it sloshed dangerously close to the rim of the mug but didn’t tip over. He pulled it up to his lips, hands hugging the hot mug and eagerly devouring its heat.

“Thanks,” he uttered, blowing across its surface and taking a sip. Black, with little sugar, as he liked it.

Hanji took a seat on the side of his desk, slim legs crossed, one over the other, and they sipped their coffees and spoke.

Hanji had spent most of the weekend messing with all of her beloved chemicals in the lab here at the department, and the rest of it mixing whiskey with her drinks at home – a regular occurrence of hers now – and tormenting her poor cats, Roman and Ire. Meanwhile, Erwin had spent his finishing off all his reports for Mike and catching up on _Ice Road Truckers,_ his new guilty pleasure.

It wasn’t bad, but it was boring. Most of his days lately had been boring. Hanji’s unpredictable appearance often brought a little splash of entertainment into his usually dull days, but once she left for her own work he was alone once more with a stack of manila folders staring at him.

 

It was lunch when it happened. He had only just sat down and broken into his lunch of tomato pasta. With one on his fork, inches away from his mouth, he almost dropped it and sent sauce splattering all his work and clothes when his door, with no warning, was flung open.

“Erwin! You unsociable sloth, get up!”

Hanji’s nails dug into his arm as she attempted to raise the man from his chair, and he let out a heavy sigh and put his fork down. He’d been looking forwards to it, too.

“What is it, Hanji? Have you forgotten how to knock already?” He asked, a tone of exasperation evident in his voice. He didn’t like having his privacy invaded.

“You’d know if you ate with everyone else!” She claimed, but she composed herself with a deep, steadying breath and let go of him with the promise that he was already standing up.

“There’s been a murder.”

 

The crime scene was in some shady drug den that they had to evacuate and send one kid off to the hospital on a near overdose, and Erwin felt like he got lung cancer just from stepping into the place.

It was an old building, crumbling down and supposedly dangerous and unfit for people to be in – no shit, he thought – and rain dripped down through holes and cracks in the ceiling and walls. Other than the disgraceful mess it was in, it did look like a regular, graffiti-ed and vandalised old house until they climbed the staircase.

Mike was standing by the body, face unreadable but eyes portraying his worries to the few who knew how to read him. The body in front of him was obviously one of the drug dens inhabitants; a young, small woman, too skinny and with track marks evident on both arms. Blood pooled around her, still warm as it trickled from the mess of her neck. Bruises were blooming on the intact skin of her throat, but the back of it, her nape, was hacked apart. Her cheekbone was sunken and broken at an odd angle, and blood under her nails proved she hadn’t died easily.

“One of the other addicts or a dealer?” Erwin offered, coming to a halt at Mike’s side. The man was older and more experienced than Erwin – he’d been one of the few in the Levi case all those years ago – but the two had become close over the past few years, and Erwin knew Mike was a good detective and a better man.

His lips were in a tight line, fingers tightly holding his notepad.

“No,” he replied bluntly, shaking his head.

“That was pretty self-assured,” Hanji commented from his other side, “I mean, odd way to kill someone I guess, but it happens all the time. She didn’t pay for some crack or stole someone else’s, this happened.”

Mike’s eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the corpse. And then he turned on heel, walking across the room.

“Take the photos and bring her back to run some tests.” He tipped his head to the side to glance back at the poor woman. Her eyes, wide and unseeing, stared at him with lingering fear. “I want lookouts around the place and the person who called the police.”

 

Erwin didn’t linger in the drug den. He helped search the room for any more evidence and let the photographer take her photos, and then watched Hanji accompany the morticians in taking the corpse back into an approaching van to return to the department. He found Mike standing outside, stamping out a cigarette, and road in the passenger seat of his car in silence.

Mike didn’t voice his thoughts and Erwin didn’t ask. He had a feeling he’d find out one way or another soon enough, anyway.

 

Sure enough, after a month, it happened again. He was working late anyway and consequently was one of the first at the scene. An old man, eyes gouged out, nape cut out with the traces of pen like a blueprint near the wound, and the initials _SS_ cut in the centre of his neck, above the messy wound. Mike stared at it with a mix of emotions, still dressed in sweatpants and a shirt, having just arrived from his one day off this week.

“I think we have a new serial killer,” he said to Erwin over whiskey at his house one night. “Or, an old one.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean? We’ve not had one for, god, a good decade.”

Mike stared at him.

“You weren’t there that decade ago,” he said. “I hardly was.”

“The Ackerman case?” Erwin raised a bushy brow. The mention of it made his gut boil. “I wasn’t involved, no. Never bothered with details after the fucker was caught. Why?”

Mike tilted his head, rubbing the back of his neck. There was a satisfying crack that came from it.

“I didn’t see much, y’know. I saw the first two bodies and then they thought I was too inexperienced to be on a serial killers case, but you know how old Dot is.”

Dot Pyxis, one of the leading detectives on the Ackerman case. An eccentric alcoholic of a man who blessed the police department.

“He kept me vaguely up to date. Bodies kept showing up; first, experimental. Vulnerable, helpless people who wouldn’t fight back so he could really get the hang of it. Necks cut straight through from the nape with surgical precision, eyes cleaned out, larynx removed. It was perfected murder. They’d never seen such perfect wounds before; that’s why they started looking at doctors and surgeons, first.” His thumb and fingers rubbed his eyes over the bridge of his nose.

“The nape,” Erwin said, “and now the eyes. You don’t think…”

“Ackerman’s still rotting in his prison, don’t worry,” Mike hurriedly assured him. “There’s no way he can get out of that place, and if he did, I don’t think the guards are too bothered about not shooting to kill. _But_ , it’s very similar. Not as good as Ackerman’s, some wannabe copycat probably.”

“You think we have a copycat?” Erwin said. He felt vaguely sick. Mike swirled the whiskey in his glass, loosely held between his thumb and pointer finger of his left hand. He finished it in one gulp and set it down.

“I think we have a god damn problem brewing, is what. Someone’s twisted enough to be inspired by Ackerman and he’s already killed two people. All we have to go by is that ‘SS’. That could mean anything. Initials, a place, a name, a nickname, an alias.” He let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. Standing up, Mike pulled out a cigarette and considerately wandered to the window before lighting it.

“We have an Ackerman fanboy and I’m being shipped off to Mexico to finish some drug cartel bullshit.”

Erwin heaved himself to his feet, stepping over to Mike side and looking at the city lights below his apartment.

“Take care of the cartel,” he told him, “let me look at Ackerman’s files. I’ll have this fanboy before you even get back,” he told him, and Mike raised an eyebrow. He had no other choice, though, and few he trusted to be competent enough to break a serial murder case.

“I trust you Erwin,” he said, stamping the cigarette out on the windowsill and definitely leaving a burn mark.

“Don’t let there be a third.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed it, feel free to leave a comment or a kudos! I appreciate all of it and love hearing people's opinions!


	2. Two

Mike left not long after the night he and Erwin set out their plan of action. He had just enough time to turn the case over to his care and get him access to all of the Ackerman files, as well as all the files on what was now dubbed the ‘Copycat Case’. He looked stressed before he left to clean up the last of the drug cartel case in Mexico he’d been involved in for the past few months, but also somehow lest stressed with the fact he could trust Erwin to lead the case and take the weight from his shoulders.

Once he had the files he holed himself away in his office, laying them out in front of him.

First, the files on the current case.

The woman from the drug den. Hanji had run tests on her and, unsurprisingly, found traces of ecstasy still in her body, with older traces of marijuana still lingering. It was a simple case of addict getting high by herself and being vulnerable to attack. Anyone could have entered and exited the abandoned house and, unless they were dressed in a suit, they would look normal. It didn’t matter if it was one in the morning or if they walked quickly with their hood up and head down. It was an easy way to reach vulnerable people and for no one, save for the police that had all the gruesome details, to bat an eye at a death there.

There wasn’t much evidence left there. The blood under her nails didn’t match any in their database or records, save for some of her own. All the grime and dirt was from the room she’d been found in. Hanji assumed that the wound on her neck had been committed by a scalpel. The fingerprint bruises left on her gave the impression it was most likely a man, but other than that, they didn’t have anything else.

The second victim, the elderly man, still didn’t give much up either. The wounds were more precise than the first and, of course, accompanied by the ‘SS’ on him. They couldn’t find his eyes and Erwin presumed that the killer had taken them, like some kind of momento. No signs of a break-in or forced entry, not much of struggle other than vase that had fallen off a table with a kick. His cat had been wandering anxiously nearby, meowing at them and protective of its’ owners body.

Lastly, Erwin began looking over the Ackerman files. It was odd reading it after it was all done; reading the tense lines of ‘no evidence’ ‘lack of evidence’ ‘no leads’ over and over again.

The only connection the victims had had to one another was that they all had a criminal record. Not necessarily major offences; driving under the influence, substance abuse, disturbances, theft, etcetera. All, save for the first and the twelve, had been killed in the same way; strangled or asphyxiated to death or unconsciousness, and then had their necks cut with eerie precision, and their eyes cleanly scooped out. The first had been different in the fact that there had been a struggle and they still had their eyes. The wounds had been rushed and shaky. The twelve was entirely different.

Pictures of the crime scene showed a vicious fight. Furniture knocked over, holes in the wall, bleach staining where the murderers’ blood had been spilled and he’d hurried to clean his traces. Two windows had been broken, the cords for their curtains ripped off and used in the scuffle. The victim themselves had been near unrecognisable; beaten bloody and broken, oozing blood from multiple stab wounds across his torso and one in his throat. At the very least, his ruined knuckles and broken nails (both aspects cleaned) proved that the murderer hadn’t gotten away unscathed. Unsurprisingly, there was a large gap between the twelve and the thirteenth victim.

They still weren’t sure why that man was different. He hadn’t been particularly physically imposing, although by then they knew they were chasing a physically rather small person. The man had been rather tall, yes, but not in his prime health; a heavy smoker and drinker, recovering from a broken ankle, and overweight. With his previous victims, this one should have been no different. Maybe he hadn’t been in his prime at the time either, and the man had simply gotten the upper hand. He hadn’t been as stealthy as usual and the fight between them got out of hand. Maybe the man had known him personally, or in some distant way. The only other thing they had to go off with that was his criminal record, a jump from previous petty thefts and muggings or drunk driving to a history of heavy domestic abuse. Some more digging on his case revealed he’d gotten home free from the accusations of physical, emotional and sexual abuse of his now ex-girlfriend Isabel Magnolia, reported to have moved to another state as soon as she could. The thirteenth continued his regular way of murder, and the last was the one they’d busted him on.

There were multiple reports of that night, and Erwin flicked through them until he found one signed by a familiar name; _Pyxis._

It was his informal report, a more personal statement that he’d written immediately after, still half in shock of the events. The formal report was further in the file in his hands, but Erwin read this one first.

_Usually we get called in by witnesses of the body hours after the crime, but today was different. At just past midnight the police got the call, now archived in some other reports undoubtedly. Some poor child, seven apparently, was hiding in his closet because he’d had a nightmare and went to find his parents only to find a bloody man above his dad. Of course, we left instantly. Drove a little faster than usual because the ~~bastard~~ man had gotten an innocent child involved in this. When we got there, I had been first in the house. If someone was going to be first to point their gun at this ~~motherfucker~~ man, it was going to be me. He was on his knees, looking down the corridor, in a pool of his victims blood. We made eye contact and it took him a solid five seconds before realisation came across him and then I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a shocked expression. _

_His fingers had streaked blood across his face and he looked completely insane. I’m waiting for the hospital to get back on us with his tests to see if he was actually high then; he sure as hell wasn’t with us, anyway. The poor man in front of him had stained his throat with blood in an obvious attempt to strangle him in self defence, and he’d left a trail of blood on the wall behind him._

_Admittedly, no one knew what to do; him or us. Red dots bounced across his face and above his heart, and then he threw the knife at us – actually hit one of our men, too, but just in the thigh – and ran. Of course we chased – some people stayed back to find the kid, who was unharmed._

_Me being first, I was closest behind him in the chase. We actually got into a fight – injuries documented – but the apartment was too small, us moving too much, for anyone to fit in and get him, pin him down or shoot him without risking me. ~~Bastard~~ Guy is surprisingly strong despite the lack of height or weight, but I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t punch as well. He jumped through the fire escape and down the alley by the apartment. Chased him through the alley and out again, only it lead right out onto the road. Someone had called back up and we’ve all been so damn eager to catch him that it was here almost instantly. Still don’t know if he saw the van coming and was willing to die to get free or if he simply didn’t see it coming. He went flying out and our men rushed to get him. Don’t think I’ve ever seen someone put up such a fight with the amount of blood coming from his head and mouth, but it was damn near impressive. _

_Almost had to hold back the officer on him, but then again, I don’t think any of us wanted him to get off scotch-free. He only fell, finally, after another hit to the head. I don’t doubt he could’ve fought more if he wanted to, but he was still alive, just, and every officer out there had their gun on him. ~~Part of me wishes he’d just fought a bit more, seemed more of a danger to the officer he was fighting, and then one person pulling a trigger and getting rid of the scum would have been justified.~~_

_I went back inside, then. Didn’t want to look at him anymore, and plus, I needed to check the kid and the rest of the house. Bloody footprints led right outside of the closet the kid was hiding in. Kid had no idea what was going on, but he’d at least been talking to the operator and all of that call’s archived. Apparently, guy came right up to the closet and was spewing some ~~shit~~ stuff – kid said nothing was to him. You can hear him in the background of the phone call, just. _

_No idea why he did it, why he stopped or hesitated or whatever, but we got him. Currently, as far as I know, he’s holed up in some special hospital ward. Got hit pretty badly. Probably be a little while before he’s able to stand trial and sentencing._

Erwin let out a sigh, setting the paper down. It had never been formally filed for obvious reasons, but it had been left in here and proved its usefulness.

Sifting through more files, he came across his professional files.

_Levi Ackerman._

_Eighteen years old as of capture and arrest._

_5’3/160cm._

_62kg/136.7lbs._

_Allergies/illnesses: none._

_Family history of violence, pressure and mental illness; undetermined._

Erwin skimmed over the report, honestly not overly interested in seeing if he had a family history of heart disease or what his high school teachers had to say about him. However, his eyes did linger on his photos. There were multiple, one when he was in hospital after his capture, his mugshot, and one from five years ago and one from almost one year ago. He hadn’t aged much between eighteen and twenty-eight, apparently. He had a slim face with prominent cheekbones and jet black hair that framed his cold eyes, staring straight through the photo and at him. The first photo his face was mottled with dark bruises and cuts, and the second showed the healing process of said wounds. The latest two were better, pale skin unmarred by any wounds although the lighting and high-quality camera captured a lingering scar across his cheekbone. In each photo his eyes were framed by unhealthy shadows and they stared blankly forwards, alert but void, as if Erwin was looking into the eyes of a robot.

Erwin wondered if they had questionings on tape or not. A part of him wanted to see the man moving, hear his voice. Was it as dead as his eyes? Emotionless and monotone, or charismatic and smooth as butter.

But Erwin didn’t have more personal files on him and he was caught. He didn’t need anything more on Ackerman.

The fluorescent lighting of his office was painful, creating a throbbing behind his eyes. The clock ticking irritatingly on the wall told him it was some ungodly hour in the night – or did it count as morning now? - that he didn’t want to think about, and he forced his stiff limbs to move and carry him to his window, scratching the window handle until he shoved it open and breathed in the cool air. Outside, street lights illuminated the empty streets, splashed light across dull and dreary buildings on either side of the road. There were only a few lights on in windows now, and no one was lingering outside either.

Now, Erwin wasn’t a smoker. He had only ever picked one up during social or stressful situations. It was a little habit, and the weight of the case settling on his shoulders, the idea that he was the one in charge of fighting for innocent lives, and the idea that if he didn’t fight hard enough then they’d be dead, and that brought back the little itch for a distraction.

The pack with three empty spots was hidden in the back of one of his drawers accompanied by a blue lighter, and he pulled them out. Balancing the cigarette between his lips Erwin shielded it in from the small draft coming from the open window to light it and he felt it scratch its’ way down his throat and into his lungs.

His first try of a cigarette had been followed by coworkers’ laughter at his immediate coughing fit, and a hard but friendly slap on the back. _“You get used to it, kid,”_ they’d said, and they were right. He had.

With it held in his mouth he spread the photos of the crime scenes out on his desk, began analysing each one and the descriptions on their back.

No proof.

It was astounding how brutal a murder could be, committed multiple times by the same person in the same way, yet leave no clues. Scarily impressive. He looked over what he was sure was every little detail they had, burned through three cigarettes and woke up from an unexpected nap on his desk that his neck and back had no qualms about making sure he regretted it.

With the first sounds of people coming into work early, he began to sort the files in front of him, putting the photographs back together, the written reports, the Ackerman files. He was just shoving the last of it together when a knock at his door drew his attention.

“Come in,” he called distractedly. He could only hope that it was none of his superiors about to walk in and see him looking like this with no time to freshen up. He didn’t have time to worry about the undoubtedly poor smell of his breath and the building grease in his hair though before the door slid open.

“Hey Erw – oh, shit, are you alright?”

Erwin threw an exasperated look in Hange’s direction, fingers scraping remaining paper into a neat stack.

“I’m in charge of the new Copycat case,” he reminded, tapping the files under his fingertips, “since Mike’s gone off for now. I’m quite motivated to try and end this case as quickly as I possibly can.”

“So you stayed here all night? Sure looks like it, anyway,” Hange commented. She stepped around the room, dragging her fingers across the table and leaning back against it.

“Might as well get a head start,” he shrugged. “Looking just as similar as the original. I need to check the reports from the other people in that drug den just in case, but” he tipped his head to the side and let out a sigh, “there’s no direct leads or evidence yet.”

Hange glanced down at her feet, her head shaking softly. “I mean, I’d offer some more lab results but I’m pretty sure whatever’s relevant is already in there,” she offered. With the wave of his hand Erwin dismissed her offer.

“Everything we know so far’s in here,” he confirmed. With a grunt, he slid into his chair and stretched his legs out.

“No next step?” The woman asked hopefully. Erwin pressed his lips together.

“I want to run a further background check on the victims,” he said, but it was only a half-hearted idea. He’d be on alert, keep an eye out around the area, but as of now they had no evidence to link the two of them except for the same nape wound and so he couldn’t do much on the idea of big reinforcement or forces at the moment.

“We’ll find them,” Hange assured him. She tilted her head up and offered an enthusiastic grin, as if she was so sure that this new murderer was caught. Erwin wished he shared her positive outlook on everything, but the gruesome details pointed nowhere but down.

“You should, ah… you should probably take the files and get some rest at home, yeah.”

Erwin fixed her with a sceptical look, eyebrows raised, and she rested her hands on her hips.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she scolded, “you look like you’re dead on your feet. What good are you going to be if we have to run off after a sudden lead later tonight? I’ll tell you – very little. Go home and get some rest, check in once you’re alive. I’ll end you whatever on e-mail so you can check it at home.”

It’s so tempting, too. His bones feel weary and the idea of him being responsible for preventing this murderer from hurting anyone else and neglecting his basic needs and inevitably slipping up because of it makes him feel ill.

Erwin sighed in defeat, slouching and reaching for the files stacked on his desk. In a calculated swipe, he pushed them off and into his bag.

“Fine,” he said, “I want every file on the Ackerman case and every lab test and photograph not currently in my bag.”

Hange scratched the back of her neck, side-stepping to follow Erwin towards the door. “They keep those Ackerman files under lock and key, I might not be able to get them,” she murmured hesitantly.

Erwin gazed tiredly at her for a moment. “Tell them Mike wants them for this case and he’s given us permission to use what we need to to try and solve it. They can phone him if they want to check.”

Hange purses her lips but then shifts her expression into a positive smile. “Sir yes sir,” she barked, hand running over the door handle before she swung it open for Erwin.

“If you don’t sleep and eat well today, Smith, I’m taking all your files away!” She called after him teasingly, and Erwin half-heartedly waved over his shoulder at her as he left, ignoring side glances from other officers and coworkers.

 

His warm apartment was unusually inviting as he trudged in, and he kicked his shoes off to the side, draped his jacket over one of the branches on his coat stand near the door.

Most importantly, he began to open his bag and set out all of the files on his dining table, knowing that if he doesn’t now then he’ll forget and sleep in. He debates just forcing coffee after coffee down his throat but that headache gives a particularly rebellious thud behind his eyes at the idea. He threw back some painkillers for it and then took a shower, got the grime and smoke off his skin, and then he threw on a pair of sweatpants and falls into bed.

Light still drifted in through the gaps in his curtains and he turned his face into the blankets, suddenly so soft and comfortable. He’d been longing for this during the entire drive home and now he was here it felt like heaven. He didn’t realise how tired he was from the all-nighter and caffeine crashes until he could all but completely ignore the sounds of traffic and life outside the apartment.

Unless this fanboy was in a rush to write Ackerman love letters in dead bodies, Erwin assured himself that, at the very least, nothing would happen today. He had the time to take a quick nap before getting back to work. It’d give Hange time to get the lab results and Ackerman files to him, too, and then he’d be back in the game, ready to make the connections to find the psychopath behind this. He hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this part! Next couple might be longer unless I split them to make more shorter chapters, so I hope you're not too bothered if lengths change as I see what I think suits this story best.   
> Feel free to reach me personally on Tumblr @killerrs-queen if you want to chat!


	3. Notice

I will be rewriting this completely. I very much like the idea, but when I first wrote it I hadn't completely thought out the plot and therefore was already leaving some plot holes and poor world-building and such. But it'll be back! Posted as a new fic hopefully soon, and I'll update this once more to announce the new one, and then delete this, just on the off chance some people still see this, and hopefully I'll see you in the new one.


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